Got Wealth, Not Health

In today’s performance-obsessed culture, optimization has become a fashionable destination. Biohacking, peptide stacks, smart wearables, exogenous ketones, $10,000 cold tubs—these tools aren’t inherently flawed. In fact, many of them are scientifically promising. But in the hands of someone who hasn’t built the base—who hasn’t earned their physiology through work rate, consistency, and humility—these interventions act more like disguises than solutions.

The data from our two-year longitudinal study confirms what many have observed anecdotally: wealth does not correlate linearly with physical health. In fact, after a certain threshold, increased wealth tends to erode it. Why? Because the foundational tension that makes optimization stick—the grit, the discomfort, the daily friction—is outsourced or ignored altogether. The body, unlike the balance sheet, is not impressed by convenience.

This is the defining paradox: the more someone can afford to skip steps, the more likely they are to chase novelty instead of fundamentals. And no amount of exogenous input can replace endogenous effort.

Among the 47 men in our cohort, the highest Health Scores did not belong to billionaires or those with concierge longevity plans. They belonged to those who still lived like the work mattered. Men who lifted heavy things, sprinted, fasted, tracked sleep and HRV, showed up daily, and learned from their failures. Men who didn’t see themselves as optimized, but optimizing.

These men were not anti-technology or anti-biohacking. But the tech was layered atop a solid foundation: robust cardiovascular health, adequate lean mass, low visceral fat, and repeatable habits. In contrast, the lowest performers—despite wealth, access, and guidance—were those who replaced strain with shortcuts. They were heavily optimized, but fundamentally unfit.

The metrics don’t lie. VO2max, lean mass, and low body fat followed a bell curve. The best results were concentrated in the mid-wealth tiers: those who had enough capital to access tools but still held onto agency and discipline. Past $100 million net worth, we saw a steep decline in key health indicators. Convenience became corrosive.

In longevity science, there’s a term: “compression of morbidity.” The idea is to extend healthspan, not just lifespan—to push vitality to the very end of life. But morbidity compresses best under tension. Not luxury. Not comfort. Not shortcuts.

So here’s the thesis made plain: the defining variable in long-term fitness, healthspan, and physiological resilience is not net worth—it’s work worth.

If you want to be durable in your later stages, forget the aura of optimization. Focus on what is real, repeatable, and hard. Sweat daily. Sleep deeply. Train with humility. Track with intent. Be consistent when no one is watching. If and when you layer novelty on top of that—good. But never confuse tools for tenacity.

This study isn’t just a diagnosis of a cultural issue. It’s a call to return to what works.